


Yavin Nights

by hellobhav



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Other, implied Baze Malbus/Chirrut Imwe, little Jedhan family, mentions of the unnecessary tentacle scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 02:04:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10652670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellobhav/pseuds/hellobhav
Summary: For Day One of Bodhi Rook Week: Rogue One bonding.Bodhi Rook has lost everything - his home, his family, his identity. But he's not the only one who's lost it all. Is it any wonder that the Jedhan survivors gravitate towards each other?





	Yavin Nights

**Author's Note:**

> So I meant to do a ficlet a day for Bodhi Week but life kicked my ass so this is about all you're gonna get. I'm sorry, but I hope you enjoy it anyway! (Cross-posted to bhavvyyy on tumblr)

Bodhi forces himself awake from yet another nightmare, sitting upright in a mess of tangled sheets and cold sweat and matted hair. Breathing hard, his eyes dart around the barely-lit room, trying to focus on _something_ to push away the remnants of the dream - _tentacles sliding and probing and prodding and reaching into my soul and tearing me open from the inside and I’m the pilot I defected I’m the pilot why won’t they believe me make it stop make it all stop_ \- and finally he swings his legs off the bed and pushes his feet into shoes and stumbles out of the room, still barely awake.  
  
There’s a little more light outside of his room, and he blinks, looking from one end of the corridor to the other, still breathing heavily. He leans back against the closed door, closes his eyes and takes in a couple of deep breaths, palms pressed to the cool metal surface of the door to ground himself. After a couple of moments, he pushes himself off the door and heads in the general direction of _outside._    
  
It takes him a while - he’s barely been at the base on Yavin 4 a week - but Bodhi finally makes his way to the roof. The air is fresher here, and Bodhi closes his eyes and breathes like he’s been starved of oxygen.  
  
Soft voices reach his ears, and Bodhi stirs, blinking around him to see who else is there. It doesn’t really surprise him that perched on one end of the roof are Chirrut and Baze. Both are seated close to the ground, and in the dim lights Bodhi can see Chirrut’s staff laying next to him, can see the blind man’s face turned up to the sky. All he sees of Baze is the blaster on his back - _doesn’t that get heavy?_ \- and his hair.  
  
“Someone has come to join us,” Bodhi hears Chirrut say loud enough for him to hear, and Baze turns in his direction. His gaze lands on Bodhi, and he nods, tips his head as if to say _come sit with us_.  
  
“Who is it, Baze?”  
  
“The boy from Jedha.”  
  
As Bodhi draws closer to them, he swears Chirrut’s face lights up - but it’s easy enough to brush that thought away because _whose face would light up for him?_

"Bodhi. Come sit with us.”  
  
And so he does, tentatively sitting down on the ground with his back to the parapet, looking from Baze to Chirrut and then down to the ground.  
  
“Having trouble sleeping, my friend?” Chirrut asks, his face turned to the general direction Bodhi is in.  
  
Bodhi’s eyes flicker up to Chirrut’s. He nods before remembering that the man is blind. “Yes.” He hesitates, drops his gaze again. “Nightmares. They’ll go away eventually.”  
  
He can _feel_ Baze looking at him, can _feel_ the intensity of his gaze. It’s as if he _knows_ what Bodhi dreams of. It’s disconcerting, yet reassuring at the same time.  
  
“You’re in good company then,” Chirrut says merrily. Bodhi’s head shoots up, looking from one Guardian to the other curiously, but Chirrut doesn’t elaborate and Baze merely grunts.  
  
“How long have you been up here?” he finally asks.  
  
“Too long,” Baze mutters under his breath.  
  
Chirrut chuckles. “Not nearly long enough. Baze doesn’t like being outside. He says it’s too hot.”  
  
The air _does_ feel different from Jedha, but then again, the Jedhan air is something that Bodhi barely remembers anymore. He closes his eyes.  
  
“This old fool can’t stand being inside,” Baze shoots back. “Says he can’t see in there.” He snorts.  
  
Bodhi looks up at Chirrut, stares at him for a moment blankly, then finds himself cracking a smile - the gesture feels _strange_ , foreign, like it doesn’t belong on his face.  
  
“Bodhi, do me a favour.”  
  
Bodhi straightens, looks at Chirrut like he’d do anything the man asked of him.  
  
“Baze tells me your hair is almost as long as his.”  
  
(Bodhi blushes, glances at Baze, who’s got the ghost of a smile playing at his lips, and he realises he’s never paid attention to just how long his hair has gotten.)  
  
“Will you sit in front of me and let me braid your hair? Baze has grown too old to indulge a blind man his little pleasures,” Chirrut adds, to which Baze simply snorts, shaking his head.  
  
With a shy smile, Bodhi stands and makes his way to Chirrut, tentatively sitting at his feet. “Wh-whenever you’re ready,” he says softly.  
  
He more or less _senses_ Chirrut reach out, groping for a moment before his hand hesitantly settles on the top of Bodhi’s head. Then, with more confidence, the other hand settles as well, making its way down to gently pull the elastic out of Bodhi’s hair. His fingers work through the hair, undoing tangles that Bodhi suspects have been in there for at least a week, if not more.  
  
Bodhi closes his eyes with a shiver. The feel of fingers sectioning his hair, weaving the sections one over the other, take him back to a long-forgotten time and place. He feels like he’s seven again, sitting in front of his mother as she oils his hair and braids it, singing under her breath.  
  
For a moment he thinks he’s imagining her singing again. He swears he can smell the pungent oil. He’s certain that those are his mother’s fingers pausing at a particularly difficult knot, hears her voice in his head chiding him, wondering what he does all day that has his hair so much more tangled than his sister’s.

But then he realises that no, it’s only Chirrut, humming a tune that’s all too familiar to Bodhi. He swallows roughly, letting out an unbidden sob.

Chirrut’s hands still for the briefest of moments before they resume work again, braiding till the ends of Bodhi’s hair. He secures the elastic in place, and there’s a moment where the three of them are sitting in silence, lost in their own thoughts but too aware of one another.  
  
“I’m sorry, Bodhi.” Chirrut’s voice is low and gentle, accompanied with a squeeze on his shoulder.  
  
Bodhi realises that his cheeks are wet. He scrubs at his face, pulling away so that he can look up at Chirrut and Baze. There is a sadness in Chirrut’s expression that's echoed in Baze’s, and Bodhi wonders if it’s mirrored in his as well. He looks down.  
  
“In war you lose people,” Baze says, a softness to his usually gruff voice. “You are too young to have lost as much as you have, little brother.”  
  
“Enough of this talk,” Chirrut says, and that is the end of it. “Come now, Bodhi. You should try to get some sleep.”  
  
_So should you_ , Bodhi wants to say, but the words are stuck behind a lump in his throat.  
  
“Sleep, and think not on what you have lost. It is time to look forward now,” Chirrut goes on.  
  
Bodhi nods. It’s as if everything that has happened tonight has filled him with... _something_ , and suddenly he knows that he will be alright. They will fight, because that is the only thing they can do, and maybe one day there will be no more war.  
  
He stands, swaying a little unsteadily on his feet. “Thank you,” he says, and he pauses because there’s so much more that he wants to say, but his words have not been coming out right since Scarif. His words have not been coming out at all. So Bodhi swallows. “Thank you,” he repeats, then, after another pause, “Goodnight, Chirrut. Goodnight, Baze.”  
  
Chirrut raises a hand and a smile, and Baze nods. Bodhi turns, heads for the doorway leading back inside, and stops.  
  
“Anytime Baze says he’s too old for you doing his hair, send him to find me.”  
  
Chirrut laughs, and as Bodhi turns away, he swears he sees Baze smile.


End file.
